By Request

“Tell me a story,” she said.

“What kind of story?”

”A true one.”

“Have I ever told you about the time I met Kris Kristofferson?”

“Not that kind of story. You know the kind I want.”

He paused for a moment and took a long pull on his beer before setting it down and fixing his gaze on hers. He leaned back and reflected in the afternoon sun. The café was half-busy inside, but they were the only two who had braved the heat of the sidewalk tables. The waitress came out and asked if everything was alright. After assent, she turned to walk inside. His gaze followed her bounce and sway through the door. His companion kept her eyes on his.

“When I was an instructor at the University a few years ago, I spent most evenings in a little bar just off campus. It was too small to attract big crowds of undergrads, so the patrons were usually professors, grad students, and a few third and fourth years. It was quiet, so it was a good place to bring someone you wanted to talk to as the booths were dark and private.”

“I like dark and private,” she offered.

“In the middle of the room,” he continued, “there was an eight top that was the gathering spot for groups. I liked to sit in the corner booth where I could watch the table. I had a writing exercise where I would create stories for the customers each night when I went home. It was usually a group of soon-to-be graduates getting together one last time to toast their success. Sometimes, it would be parents, bringing their kids in to show off the school and how cool they used to be, trying to get them to attend the old alma mater.”

He took another drink and lightly touched her skin just below the crook of her elbow. “We may have to go soon, to get out of this sun,” he said.

“After your story.”

“OK. One night, a group of six third-year students came in: three guys and three girls. Four of them were students of mine, two of each sex. The guys had no interest in my class and were fortunate to get gentleman “Cs. One of the girls was an earnest writer, always turning in papers twice as long as required. I spent a few sessions with her, trying to get her to realize that more words are not better if they are not the right ones. She would ask questions and point out her love of Faulkner and Steinbeck and I would point her to Hemingway, telling her to ‘cut, cut, cut.’ The other girl in my class was . . .” He paused for a moment and looked down the street to the newsstand, busy selling drinks and candy to the working suits. “She was interesting,” he finally finished.

“Oohh, interesting. Does that mean she had big boobs?” she asked with a sly grin.

He smiled back, “Actually, they were not that big. Very nice, though. They looked heavy in her sweaters. They were like big grapefruits that were twice as heavy as you expect when you pick them up. You remember how Jennifer Aniston filled out a sweater on ‘Friends,’ that’s what they looked like.”

”Did you pick the beautiful, heavy grapefruits up, professor?”

“That’s for maybe later in the story, young lady. For now, think of them as potentials, because that is how I looked at them in class every week as she sat in my class. Perfectly weighted and shaped potentials.”

He pulled his chair closed to hers and leaned in. “You smell wonderful.”

“I’ll smell like sweat in a little bit. You won’t mind will you?”

“Only if you don’t. Actually, it doesn’t matter if you mind or not. I certainly won’t. Would you like another?” He motioned to the waitress to bring two more before she nodded. He knew she wanted another one and would wait, and drink, and listen to the story for as long as it took; Or as long as she would let him tell it before insisting they leave to go to the apartment upstairs.

“Well, what was so interesting about her?” she asked after the glasses had been placed in front of them.

“At first, I thought she was one of those “Twilight” girls. Her first few assignments were about vampires. For a few years, forty-percent of papers dealt with damn vampires and werewolves and sensitive girls who couldn’t choose which whiny monster they wanted to tame. Then, I noticed her stories didn’t follow the usual pattern. She was cruel to her characters which is strange for a writer, much less a young one. Most writers love their creations and hate to make them go through anything difficult unless they win the heart of their beloved or some such nonsense in the end. She was tough, though. Her vampires either ended up killing the girls or fell prey themselves to vengeful lovers. There was no happy ending in her stories.”

“Maybe she was just mean.”

“I think she was a little mean,” he conceded. “But, there was more than that. She had a darkness in her writing that you could only see on paper. When she came to class, she practically jumped through the door and into her seat; the very definition of ‘bubbly’. She was full of energy, not like the Goths who tried to live the words they were putting on paper. She was a person separate from her writing, which sounds obvious, but is rare for a really good writer, which it turned out she was.”

”You’re not going to tell me one of her stories, are you?” she said with a slight pout.

“What if I am in it?”

”That might work. Do you think she would tell me one?”

“You might be her type actually. She always seemed to be hanging around big-bosomy blondes.”

“Well, this story might get interesting after all,” she said, leaning forward and grabbing his glass before raising it to her lips and taking a gulp. She took another. “Buy me another drink, sailor?”

“Only if you promise to love me long time,” he replied with a smile as he raised his hand to signal for two more.

Once the waitress had come and gone, he took a drink and began again. “The six of them came in the bar and sat at the big table. I was in my usual spot, drinking a few Smithwicks and observing the room.”

”Is this the same bar where you nailed the waitress in that back booth?” She was getting a little loose now, four beers into the afternoon and six hours from breakfast. Her skin had moistened in the heat and now shone in her cleavage and neck.

“She was actually one of the owners who was waitressing that night because they were short-handed. I offered to pitch in and she accepted.” He took another pull. “You know that story already.”

”I love that story,” she said. “It ends great.”

“I remember it did end great last time I told it to you. Thank you for that.”

”You are most welcome. I trust this lengthy tale you are telling me now has an appropriate ending as well?”

“We’ll have to wait to find out, won’t we?”

“I might get bored and leave,” she said with a slight sneer.

“I bet I can get our server to listen to the end of it,’ he replied with a slight raise of his brow.

“Alright, mother-fucker. Finish your story,” she grinned.

He smiled back at her. “They sat, girls on one side, boys on the other. She was at the end closest to me, facing my way. Each girl seemed to be paired with the guy across from her, but I noticed there was very little interaction across the table. The guys all had their phones out and had their heads down, typing away, while the girls looked at one another and talked. Whenever a guy would put his phone down for a beat, it seemed the girl across from him would pull hers out and start peering at it. The guy would sit there dumbly for a moment, then go right back to his own screen. I watched this for an hour as the guys split two pitchers of beer and the girls drank wine without eye contact being made a dozen times between the six of them. I couldn’t figure out if they were on a group date, were brothers and sisters, or were complete strangers who happened to sit at the same table. While I sat there and pondered the axiom of youth being wasted on the young, I caught the eye of my girl every few minutes. She would smile and look away before looking back at the boy across from her and then at one of the other girls. She would always come back to me, though. She got bolder, holding my gaze a little longer each time, touching her hair and taking sips from her glass of wine. I sat there and practically leered, rarely averting my gaze. She had an “A” already, the semester was over, and I was going to be at a new job in a few weeks so I had no reason to be coy.

She was in jeans and a sweater that clung to her. I was actually pissed at the kid she was with for not trying harder with her. She was damn sexy and it was obvious she was in the mood for at least some serious flirting and all he could do was sit there and type on his phone. I wanted to call her over and put my hand on her ass and dip her, kissing her for a minute, the standing her up and telling the kid, “that’s how you do it dumbass,’ then sitting back down and finishing my beer.”

His companion was silent now, anticipating the path of the tale, leaning forward, lips apart. She had stopped drinking. The beads of sweat had begun to succumb to gravity and were making their way deep into her blouse. His eyes followed them down. She noticed and became suddenly self-conscious, pulling back in her chair and placing her hand across her chest. His dark eyes had startled her when she had looked into them. The lust was reflected in her own and the animal nature of the afternoon had overcome her for a moment. She smiled and leaned back in towards him. “I know that look,” she purred.

“You should.”

He took another drink and offered his glass to her. She took it and drained it in one long turn, then gasped for breath as she almost slammed the glass back on the table. “Ready for more?” he asked.

“I’m ready for just about anything right now, big man. You can finish your little story though,” she said, leaning back and letting her knees fall apart with one hand fingering her own neck and the other laying provocatively in her lap.

“It won’t take too long to finish.”

“Is that what you told her?”

He smiled, leaned forward and touched her knee, causing her to slightly shiver despite the heat. “After the boys finished the second pitcher, they all stood to leave. She looked at me as she walked around the end of the table and towards the door with her opposite trailing behind her. Before she turned her back to me, she mouthed ‘I’ll be right back’ in a manner that none of her companions could see. I ordered another beer and a glass of wine and waited. Five minutes passed before she walked back in and strode right past me without looking. She walked down the back hallway, but trailed her hand up my arm and across my shoulder, brushing my hair as she passed. In a few minutes, she reappeared and sat down beside me in the booth.”